


Like a Modern Uri Geller

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Metalbender [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Away Mission Gone Wrong, Crossover, Gen, Jim Kirk is a metal-bending mutant, Metalbending & Metalbenders, Metallokinesis, Mutants, Secret revealed, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mutants have been extinct since the Eugenics War. But then, Jim's the exception to everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Modern Uri Geller

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, I just want to sit here and cry in gratitude that this fic is finally finished, because you do not know how much time I spent trying to work out a plot to go with this concept. It was _months._ I want to say straight out that this fic wouldn't exist without the help of a bunch of people who offered helpful comments and suggestions when I was stuck halfway through without a plot. Therefore, in no particular order, I'd like to thank: rippleeffect, GoldenRedRose, stina_whatever, morning_dew, S_T_Nickolian6, helva2260, tone, hajimebassaidai, vMures, Anihan (Nakagami), and aHostileRainbow for their assistance.
> 
> Also, this fic takes place after the first movie, and I haven't seen STID yet, so don't expect anything from STID to be in here.

** Like a Modern Uri Geller **

Jim wakes with a gasp, Kodos’ face still painted starkly across his mind’s eye. It takes him a moment of deep breathing and reaching out to the reassuring hum of the _Enterprise_ surrounding him before he notices that, once again, he’s surrounded himself with a barricade made of all the metal items in his quarters, and that his door has melded itself to the door-frame.

“Not again!” Jim groans, sitting up and sending the objects around him clattering to the floor as his movements dislodge them. “ _Fuck_ it.”

It takes several minutes of concentration to separate the door from the door-frame, and the electronics are probably damaged, _again_ \- Jim’ll have to have a tech come and check it later – but it once again looks and feels like a door, so Jim will have to be content with that.

It’s the eighth time Jim has manipulated metal in his sleep thanks to his nightmares. It’s been several months since Nero was defeated, and almost every fucking night since Jim has dreamt about fucking Kodos or Tarsus IV. It’s like something in all the death and destruction Nero caused resonated with memories Jim has done his best to bury, and every time Jim falls asleep he’s back in his own personal hell, reliving the horror.

Sometimes he dreams of the soldiers rounding everyone up; sometimes he dreams of hiding in the forest with a bunch of younger kids even more terrified than he was. And sometimes, on the worst nights, he dreams of that last, terrible memory, with Kodos screaming as all around them metal wrenched itself to life in response to Jim’s terror and rage. It was the first time metal ever responded to him, and whenever Jim relives it in his dreams, he manipulates metal in his sleep. 

Sighing wearily, Jim stumbles into the fresher. If this keeps up, Jim is going to have to talk to someone about the nightmares, which means talking about Tarsus IV, and hoping to God that no one works out the rest.

Because while everyone might say _now_ that what happened to the mutants at the end of the Eugenics War was horrific, and that it was an act of genocide… no one’s ever forgotten why they were exterminated in the first place. Even now, people are pretty wary of stable psi-talents, like Vulcan touch telepathy or Betazoid empathy. 

If anyone knew that Jim’s exposure to all that radiation when he was a baby on the shuttle had given him a mutation – with a capital-M – and that Jim shares his ability with one of the most infamous mutants to have ever existed… then Jim would be completely and utterly screwed. Forget Federation virtues of tolerance and diversity, Jim would be lucky to spend the rest of his life in a plastic prison and drugged up to the eyeballs. Jim doesn’t even want to contemplate what might happen to him if he was _un_ lucky.

Jim lets his head thud gently against the wall.

“Think positive, okay,” he says out loud. “Tarsus is behind me, Kodos is dead so I can stop frigging dreaming about it all the time, and I’m totally not going to accidentally channel Uri Geller in my sleep any more.”

Yeah, and the Klingons are joining the Federation any day now.

* * *

By the time he makes it out to the mess hall, Jim is composed and in control, with his Serious Captain face on. It’s a face he’s copied from Chris Pike, who despite the irreverent anti-establishment sentiment he cherishes deep in his heart, does a pretty damn good impression of The Man most of the time.

(“Faking authority and wisdom is an important part of being a captain,” Pike told Jim over whiskey, that one time he took Jim out for ‘the day you were born really sucked’ celebrations. “So is knowing how to spin believable bullshit, but you’ve got that down just fine.”)

The Serious Captain face tends to work pretty well, but it doesn’t disguise the increasingly large dark circles under Jim’s eyes, so he really isn’t all that surprised when Bones walks over to stare at him in deep suspicion.

“Have you been sleeping?” Bones demands.

“And good morning to you too, Bones,” Jim says dryly.

“Well?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sleeping?” Jim dodges the question. Bones glares at his evasion.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he says pointedly.

Not for the first time, Jim thinks that they really need to get a dedicated psychiatrist with no other duties on board ship, because the idea of some poor bastard having _Bones_ unpick their accumulated psychological issues is actually genuinely terrifying.

“Did you ever hear about a guy named Uri Geller?” is what comes out of Jim’s mouth, against all reason.

Bones blinks and his eyes narrow, unsure where this conversation is going, but he answers the question anyway.

“Wasn’t he some 20th century celebrity? And no one can make up their mind whether he was a mutant or just a top-class stage magician?”

“Oh my God, you watched _Mutant or Magician: The Uri Geller Story,_ didn’t you,” groans Jim, because the only people who refer to Geller as a ‘stage magician’ are people who watched that godawful, fictionalised holo that came out like thirty years ago, in which Geller was secretly working for the CIA. It was a love story. With psychokinetic metal-bending powers. Seriously, it’s an hour and a half of his life Jim will never get back, and the only reason he watched the whole thing was out of a kind of horrified fascination.

Bones looks suddenly shifty.

“The ex-wife picked it out,” he defends himself, and hastily changes the subject. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, I’ve got a hypo for that.”

“Oh God, _no_ ,” Jim tells him forcefully. “What is it with you and hypos? Hypos aren’t the answer to everything, you maniac.”

“Not yet,” Bones concedes, “but science is a wonderful thing, Jimmy, and it’s amazing how many problems the right hypo can solve already.”

Jim sighs. He can tell a losing argument when he sees one, and figures he should just leave Bones and his disturbing love of hyposprays alone.

“I’ve been getting nightmares, okay, and all of the standard sedatives and sleep aids only make it worse. The ones that don’t give me hives or make me throw up, anyway.”

Bones’ face changes, and suddenly he’s pinning Jim with an intent, understanding look.

“What kind of nightmares?” he asks quietly, and Jim twitches at the gentleness of the question.

“Just nightmares, okay,” he can’t help snapping, “it’s not – it’s not Nero or anything, but I guess that must have been some kind of catalyst, or something, because I keep getting these stupid nightmares about something that happened when I was a kid. I don’t want to talk about it, alright?”

“Well, you change your mind, you know where I am,” Bones says peaceably, and Jim wants to throw something at him. “I’ll see if I can find something that might help with the nightmares.”

“Thanks,” Jim mutters. Bones claps him on the shoulder bracingly, and goes off to bug Chekov about his immunisation shots.

Jim gloomily forces down his breakfast, and tries to pretend that nothing is wrong.

* * *

One of the allergy specialists Jim’s mom dragged him to when he was a kid said that it was likely that his many allergies were the result of Jim being bombarded with radiation while he was on the shuttle. Jim was born slightly premature anyway, and the shuttle had only the most basic radiation shielding, and whatever the hell had destroyed the _Kelvin_ left a fuckload of radiation bouncing around out there. Considering the circumstances, Jim was lucky to be as healthy as he was, the specialist concluded.

Jim remembers the explanations even though he was still pretty young at the time, because even as a kid, he’s been sharp enough to know that it would be a good idea to know why his body seemed to hate him sometimes. He’d paid close attention for once, listening to everything the specialist told his mom.

These days, whenever Jim has an allergy attack, he thinks about the irony that the same radiation which gave him a potentially life-threatening medical condition is also the reason he has metal-bending superpowers. It’s kind of like Superman and Kryptonite: sure, he has amazing powers over metal, yay, but at the same time he’s been given a potentially fatal weakness for villains to exploit.

This train of thought is actually relevant right now, because if anyone hates Jim enough to sneakily commit murder-by-allergy, it’s probably Spock.

To be fair, Jim is pretty sure Spock doesn’t hate him _all_ the time. But right now he’s got that look on his face, the kind of pinched one that says that Vulcans do not have feelings, but if they did Spock would feel like punching Jim in the face right about now. Maybe even strangle him a little, just to get rid of some of the frustration Jim is so good at inducing.

Jim grins at Spock, and receives Spock’s best ‘die in a fire’ glare in return.

“Captain,” says Spock, all stern disapproval and careful restraint, like that ever has any effect on Jim except to make him want to do exactly the opposite of whatever it is Spock thinks he should do. Not that he usually does – he _is_ a captain now – but damn, he _wants_ to.

“Mr Spock,” Jim returns, and puts on the Serious Captain face, although his mouth twitches a bit at the corners. “What can I do for you?”

Spock frowns at him.

“I understand that you intend to accompany the team on today’s away mission,” he says, and Jim wants to howl with frustration.

“C’mon Spock, we’ve talked about this,” says Jim, because Spock has a bugbear about Jim going on away missions all the time. Something about how the captain has a duty to his ship and shouldn’t place himself in danger, blah blah blah. 

While it’s true that sometimes away missions can be more dangerous than anticipated, most of the time nothing much happens besides discussion and diplomacy, and anyway, all the initial contact reports on the Thranes say that they’re a peaceful and rational people. Jim figures Spock has, like, a nervous anxiety thing about his captain leaving the ship ever since Pike got worked over by Nero and had to retire to a desk job over it, which Jim understands, but still. He's not goign to stay on the ship all the time just to make Spock feel better.

“Besides, Thrania is supposed to be a peaceful planet, remember? It’ll be fine.” 

Spock makes a slight face that’s the Vulcan equivalent of a scowl.

“Captain, I must protest–”

Jim puts on his Stern Captain face, which is kind of like his Serious Captain face but more annoyed.

“Spock,” he says, and this time his tone of voice makes it clear that he refuses to have another argument about this. “I understand your concerns, but it’s not your decision.”

Spock gets the vaguely pinched look on his face again.

“If you insist, sir,” he says grudgingly.

“I do insist,” Jim confirms, and continues on his way to the bridge. Spock follows him, stiff and silent and judgemental. Judgemental is practically his default state, though, so Jim can deal.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he announces as he walks onto the bridge. Various ‘good mornings’ float back to him.

“Captain,” Uhura acknowledges, which is progress.

“Mr Sulu, you have the conn,” Jim tells him.

“Yes, sir.”

The away team assembles in the transporter room: Spock, Uhura, Jim himself, and a bunch of communications and science underlings. They beam down together, with Spock still making his judgemental and disapproving face.

It’s going to be one of those days, Jim can tell.

* * *

So, these are the main things that Jim knows about the Thranes after reading the initial contact reports, minus a whole lot of marginally less important details:

  * Their planet is pretty similar to Earth geologically, although their climate is a bit more stable.
  * They’re a post-industrialist society, maybe a couple of centuries behind Earth, as far as tech goes.
  * The Thranes themselves are humanoid, blue, about six feet tall, and a generally peaceful society.



Except that it turns out that the team who made first contact got that last point wrong as shit, because at the moment Thrania is in the middle of a civil war, and instead of beaming down into a peaceful city like the team who made the initial contact, the away team beams down straight into the middle of a battle where they’re immediately taken prisoner.

Diplomats, they always miss something important, but what can you do?

Apparently the soldiers are misogynistic as well as xenophobic: Uhura has a bruise blooming on her face where one of them hit her with their gun when she tried to negotiate with them, for ‘talking to a man without being asked.’ Uhura is tough as nails, Jim knows, and being hit in the face probably isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to her; still, it’s fuelled the little fire of hate in his heart. Also, it means that now it’s up to Jim to attempt to negotiate with the soldiers, which probably isn’t going to go well.

They’re being marched down a metal corridor at gunpoint to God knows where, two-by-two with their hands handcuffed behind their backs. Next to Jim Spock is looking vaguely murderous; it looks like he isn’t too happy about Uhura being hit in the face because misogyny, either.

“Look,” Jim tries, as he walks along. “We have no quarrel with your people.”

“Shut up, alien scum,” comes the predictable reply. Someday Jim kind of wants to look at the programming for the Universal Translator, because somehow, any xenophobic insults always seem to be translated as ‘alien scum,’ and Jim is pretty sure there’s more variety going on than that.

“We just want to get back to our ship, okay?” Jim tries a second time. “ We don’t want trouble. All we want is to go–”

In Jim’s experience this is the point where they threaten to use violence if he doesn’t shut up, which is why it comes as a total surprise when they just shoot him instead.

Jim collapses in agony, vaguely aware of shouts of consternation from the away team. He’s left lying on the floor as the leader of the soldiers calls the whole group to a halt.

“Lying scum,” says the leader coldly. “We’ll hear no more of your falsehoods.” He gestures to the other soldiers. “This is as good a place as any. Line them up against the wall. We’ll take the leader with us to question later. He should survive that long.”

The away team tries to fight back, but hand-cuffed and at gunpoint there’s not much they can do about the situation.

Through blurred eyes Jim can see the soldiers lining up his people to be shot, and knows that if he doesn’t do something they’re all going to die here. Gathering the last of his waning strength, Jim unlocks his cuffs with a thought, stretches out an arm, and curls his fingers.

The metal corridor around them begins to creak, and the soldiers look around in alarm. Jim curls his fingers a little more, and with a shrieking, shearing noise a metal panel wrenches free, twisting into a spiralling point like a corkscrew. All around him Jim can feel metal, ready and waiting for him. So for the second time in his life, Jim reaches out in desperation, and feels the metal respond.

The metal panels are tearing free, spiralling into new shapes, the soldiers screaming as they’re impaled on the sharp edges and points. They’re shooting at the metal like that’s going to do any good, and Jim stops the ricocheting bullets before they can hurt anyone. Everyone’s watching the metal, and no one notices as Jim raises a hand and uses the surrounding metal of the corridor to pull himself to his feet.

“Guys,” he rasps, as the last soldier slumps to the ground. It’s horrible and it’s terrible and it’s like killing Kodos all over again, but this time Jim doesn’t feel the savage glee, just the pain and fear. “We need to go.”

Jim can feel the thump of booted feet vibrating through the metal of a corridor that’s not very far away, and knows they don’t have much time. The away team are staring at him, but Jim makes a gesture with his hand, and the handcuffs holding their hands behind their backs suddenly click open. Jim sways, and almost staggers, but catches himself in time. He’s feeling increasingly light-headed, and knows the blood loss is affecting him.

Jim shakes his head, trying to will away the darkening edges of his vision, and looks back at the away team.

He immediately flinches, because they’re all watching him with fear and horror, like he’s some kind of monster, some terrible thing that they’ve never seen before. Jim licks his lips, tasting copper, and for once in his life he doesn’t know what to say. The only one of them who doesn’t look afraid is Spock, whose eyes are wide and uncharacteristically shocked, and that’s almost as bad.

“ _You,_ ” Uhura almost whispers, and Jim flinches again at the morbid fascination in her voice. “Oh my God. You’re…” She can’t even bring herself to say the words, and something in Jim snaps.

He starts to laugh, and sees them all draw away like he’s about to hurt them, all except Spock who’s just staring, and his laughter is choked and bitter and he can feel the blood bubbling up with every wheezing breath, and Jesus Christ it hurts, but he can’t stop. He’s just saved all of them, his people, and they’re staring at him like he’s the bogeyman incarnate.

Jim sways again, and does stagger this time. He starts to fall to his knees, unable to stay standing, but something catches him under the arm. So Jim opens his eyes again, with an effort, and there’s Spock, his eyes full of concern and determination, winding his arm under Jim’s shoulder to keep him upright.

For a moment Jim can hardly breathe, he’s so damn grateful, and Spock must be feeling every iota of Jim’s broken disbelieving gratitude, but he can’t stop the feeling from engulfing him. Spock’s expression flickers with understanding, and Jim somehow manages to find the strength to keep going.

Jim’s people are still staring at him with varying expressions of wariness, but fuck that. With Spock supporting him Jim straightens, and gestures with his free hand at the pieces of metal littering the corridor. They reform under his direction, reshaping themselves into large metal balls, which rise into the air and begin circling himself and Spock and the away team, ready to be flung at approaching enemies.

“The Captain gave an order,” says Spock, his voice full of the command that Jim can’t manage right now, and this time the away team look like they’re going to listen, even though they all still look as shaken as hell. Uhura’s eyes are full of questions, but then her eyes fall on Jim’s midsection and she blanches, nodding. Jim wonders vaguely exactly how much he’s been bleeding, and wants to laugh again.

Later, Jim doesn’t remember how they escaped. He has fleeting half-memories, more impressions than anything, really, of flinging metal spheres and of yelling voices and stumbling as he tries to walk, all while Spock’s voice in his ear urges him to continue and to remain conscious.

After that, there’s nothing.

* * *

The first thing Jim is aware of is the Enterprise’s distinctive hum surrounding him. The second thing he’s aware of is the fact that he’s covered with various metal objects, because apparently this is becoming a regular thing now. Also, Jim’s chest aches like crazy, which means he’s probably been injured again.

Jim opens his eyes cautiously, and finds Spock sitting at his bedside wearing a kind of blankly pensive expression, which is a sight no one should have to wake up to.

“You’re awake,” says Spock, which is a bit more blindingly obvious than anything he usually says, and with a rush of panic it all comes back to Jim.

The away mission. Their near-execution. The fact that in a fit of desperation Jim actually used his powers and now they _know he’s a mutant._

One second Jim is staring at Spock in horror, but the next moment he suddenly can’t see his First Officer any more, because there’s a wall of hovering metal objects in front of him. The bed Jim’s resting on rattles, and the walls start to creak ominously.

Jim tells himself to get a grip and to calm the fuck down, but the metal stays where it is, and Jim acknowledges that yeah, no, that isn’t going to happen. He’s so fucking terrified he’s shaking, which is the dumbest thing ever because even when it looked like the Earth was going to be imploded by a bughouse-crazy Romulan Jim didn’t feel this sort of fear, but apparently Jim is just that scared of being found out.

There’s a sort of re-evaluative silence from outside the wall of metal objects, and then Spock says carefully, “Captain. I assure you that no one on this ship intends you harm.”

Jim can’t help his yelp of hysterical laughter, because he knows he’s not rational right now, but even at his most logical he knows Spock’s words aren’t true. Jim is a _mutant_ , and Jim’s had all his life to learn how people feel about mutants. In a world where mutants have been extinct for centuries people still talk about them like they’re the monster under the bed. Jim’s lucky no one’s tried to kill him while he was unconscious. Now that he is conscious, though? God knows what’s going to happen to him.

“Right,” he says, and he can hear the tremble in his voice, “because no one gives a damn that I’m a mutant, right, Spock? _Bullshit_. I saw the looks on everyone’s faces.”

“While it is true that the witnesses to your display were considerably unnerved–” ‘scared shitless’, Jim mentally translates, “–they are all aware that your actions saved their lives, and understand the risk you have taken in revealing yourself.”

“That’s great,” Jim says bitterly. “So, what’s going to happen to me now? What’s Starfleet think of the fact that the captain of their flagship is a mutant?”

There’s another careful silence from Spock, before he speaks.

“It seemed best,” he says slowly, “if Starfleet was not apprised of your abilities.”

Jim blinks.

“Wait, what?”

“To that end,” Spock continues, ignoring Jim, “those who witnessed your talents have agreed to be… less than entirely truthful in their reports.”

It takes Jim a second to get that, and then another few seconds to muster up any kind of response other than disbelief.

“You’re telling me everyone’s _lying_ about what happened?” Jim starts to sit up, winces at the stabbing pain that produces, and decides to keep lying down.

“I would not use the term ‘lying,’” says Spock, and he’s using that particular bland tone of voice that means that if he wasn’t full of Vulcanly emotional repression then he would probably smirking right now. “More… that a certain level of restraint was used.”

“Holy fuck,” says Jim, and he’s actually starting to believe Spock. “You mean, they don’t… I don’t know, want to hold a witch-burning?”

“Such barbaric practices have long been extinct,” Spock says disapprovingly, like Jim should know his history better, and Jim can’t help his snort. Suddenly, just like that, he has control over his abilities again, and slowly lowers the wall of metal objects until he can see Spock again.

Spock is giving him the patient ‘I understand your reasoning but think you unusually dim’ face, which is kind of annoying, but at least better than his ‘die in a fire’ face, which always means bad things for Jim. _This_ face, on the other hand, usually means that Spock is feeling in sympathy with Jim, although he’d never admit it because Vulcans are immune to feelings.

“You know what I mean,” says Jim, because he’s pretty sure that Spock’s confusion at human idiom is at least half-feigned; Spock’s _mother_ was human, for Gods’ sake, and Spock’s been in Starfleet for years and years. No way he hasn’t picked up a thing or two about Standard speech by now. Spock’s eyebrow lifts at Jim’s statement, but he doesn’t disagree, so Jim’s probably right.

“Despite your emotionalism and propensity for inserting yourself into difficult situations,” says Spock, “you are not an unacceptable captain.”

Which is probably the closest thing Jim is ever likely to get to an admission from Spock that he’s actually pretty freaking good at his job, considering. Jim actually feels kind of touched.

“So, what,” Jim says, “no one cares? I mean, I killed a bunch of people in front of you with _the power of my mind_ – that doesn’t freak anyone out?”

“It was, as I stated earlier, in defense of the away team,” says Spock. “While I will not deny that your ability caused considerable perturbation, none of the crew believe that you intend them harm.”

Jim tries to process that, really tries, but it’s too big an idea to get his head around. He’s spent half his life living in terror of what will happen if people find out that he’s a mutant, and the answer is… nothing?

“Who knows?” Jim asks. “That I’m a mutant, I mean.”

“Apart from the away team, only Dr McCoy was informed of your condition,” Spock tells Jim calmly, and Jim blanches. “While somewhat displeased that you had not informed him yourself–”

“Oh, God,” Jim groans. “I’m so screwed.”

“–he understood your reticence,” Spock finishes.

“He’s going to do like, a million blood tests and stuff, isn’t he?” Jim asks despairingly.

“It seems probable, Captain.”

So, apart from Bones hovering over him and taking blood like some kind of fiendish vampire, it looks like there’s not going to be any repercussions over Jim channelling his inner Magneto. Except, Jim knows better than that.

“Spock,” he says quietly. “Okay, so they’re not going to report me to Starfleet. But how many of them are scared of me, now?”

Spock hesitates for a second, and Jim knows that his suspicion is right. His lips curve in a bitter smile.

“Figures,” Jim says.

“With time, Captain, I am sure they will recover from their shock,” Spock tries, which Jim appreciates, but it still doesn’t help that much. “It is illogical to fear you when it is clear that you put the wellbeing of everyone on this ship before your own.”

For Spock, this is clearly the equivalent of a ‘fuck those guys,’ speech, and again, Jim feels touched. 

“Thanks, Spock,” Jim sighs. “At least there’s some people I can depend on not to be assholes, right?”

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock agrees solemnly, which makes Jim crack a smile.

“Someone should probably send me copies of everyone’s reports, so I know what the official story is,” Jim says, which is when Spock produces a padd out of nowhere and says, “I ensured that all the important details matched, while each report remained sufficiently different from the others so as not so raise suspicion–” and Jim can’t help it, he starts to laugh.

Almost immediately it segues into a coughing fit that leaves Jim feeling raw and on fire where the bullet went through him, and dizzy as his lungs spasm uncontrollably.

Bones appears out of nowhere, cursing loudly, and stabs Jim with a hypo that thankfully stops the spasms, and Jim can breathe again.

“I think,” Jim says faintly, “that I might go back to sleep now.” He feels like one giant ache, and his chest is throbbing with pain. “Also, ow.”

Bones grunts and chases Spock out of the medbay. Spock leaves at a dignified walk and makes a comment about paperwork, just to make it clear that he’s only leaving because he has things to do, and not because Bones wants him to or anything. Sometimes, Spock reminds Jim of nothing so much as a giant cat: it’s something about his facial expressions and general air of lofty disdain, and also the fact that Jim _swears_ his ears sometimes twitch when he gets really irritated.

Bones waits until Spock is gone, crosses his arms, and says, “So. You’re a mutant.”

Jim nods weakly, because he still feels a bit light-headed after his coughing fit, and doesn’t really want to waste any air on talking. Also, this will go easier if he just nods to everything Bones says and doesn’t argue back, which, frankly, is pretty hard, but Jim figures that just he’ll shut up for once, considering.

Bones just looks at him for a long minute, and Jim looks back, and then Bones goes, “Huh.” And then he stabs Jim with another hypo without any warning, but the pain in Jim’s chest starts to ease almost instantly so Jim decides not to complain about the sadistic joy Bones takes in wielding hypos against unsuspecting patients.

“You should rest,” says Bones, and Jim thinks that’s a pretty good idea. He’s feeling suddenly drowsy on top on the fading pain and exhaustion, and wonders what exactly was in that last hypo. He closes his eyes, and before he knows it, he’s asleep.

* * *

It’s the first night of peaceful sleep Jim’s had in weeks. When he wakes up Jim feels incredibly refreshed, despite the bullet-hole in his torso.

“God- _dammit_ ,” says Jim feelingly, because using his powers to kill a bunch of people and being outed as a mutant shouldn’t give Jim a dreamless night’s sleep, but there you go, Jim’s subconscious is really fucked-up.

Someone’s put away Jim’s wall of metal objects while he was asleep, and they’re all back in their places instead of scattered across Jim’s bed and the floor around it.

Before long Chapel stops by to check on Jim, and then goes off to tell Bones he’s awake. For breakfast all Jim gets is porridge, which is Bones’ way of punishing Jim for getting himself shot. Jim whines about it, but Bones is adamant, the bastard. So Jim sulkily eats his porridge and doesn’t tell Bones that it reminds him of all the bland food the doctors made him eat after he was rescued from Tarsus IV, because Bones‘ll get that _look_ and before he knows it Jim will be forced into mandatory counselling sessions, which no. He got enough of those as a kid, thank you very much. As long as Jim isn’t having nightmares and manipulating metal in his sleep, he’s fine.

After breakfast Jim is bored enough to start going through the reports of the Thranian SNAFU on his padd. He reads Spock’s report first. It’s concise, detailed, and full of lies: according to Spock, the away team managed to overpower the soldiers long enough to escape the building and get beamed up – which is one way of looking at the situation, Jim supposes. He goes through the other reports, and they’re just as Spock said: matching on all the important details, but just dissimilar enough that no one’s going to suspect there’s something funky going on.

Jim is admiring Spock’s bullshitting skills and wondering vaguely if Spock knows how to play poker or even chess when someone clears their throat, and he looks up to see Uhura.

“Captain,” she says, looking awkward and sort of regretful.

“Lieutenant Uhura,” Jim acknowledges cautiously, and Uhura controls a wince at his wary tone of voice. Okay, Jim is definitely curious now.

“I wanted to apologise,” Uhura says formally, “for my reaction during our last away mission.”

Jim goes still, because he hasn’t forgotten the look on Uhura’s face when she said “ _You,_ ” or the fact that she couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘mutant.’

“It was discriminatory and unfair of me,” Uhura continues, looking uncomfortable. “I should have known better than to react with outdated prejudice.”

“Plenty of people on Earth would disagree with you,” Jim says slowly. Uhura’s expression doesn’t change, but Jim watches with vague fascination as her nostril’s flare.

“With all due respect sir, this is Starfleet. We’re supposed to be about scientific discoveries and peaceful exploration, and acting on centuries-old bigotry against people with unusual psi-talents is against everything the Federation stands for.” Uhura’s tone is earnest and her eyes are sincere, and it’s clear she means what she’s saying.

Jim is impressed in spite of himself by Uhura’s little speech; there’s a willingness to confront her own flaws head-on there that Jim can’t help but respect.

“Apology accepted, Lieutenant,” he says with a small smile.

“Thank you, Captain,” Uhura says, but hesitates.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” Jim asks her, because there’s clearly something Uhura wants to say. She looks relieved at the question.

“Just… how long?” she blurts, and Jim wants to groan.

Normally he’d evade the question, but considering the apology Uhura just made and the fact that she’s covering for him, Jim kind of feels he owes her a real answer. So he braces himself, and tells her the truth.

“Since Tarsus IV,” he says shortly, and waits for her to get it. Uhura’s not stupid, so it only takes a second before her eyes go wide and horrified.

“You mean you were…”

“One of the survivors, yeah,” Jim agrees. Uhura looks embarrassed.

“Thank you for telling me, sir. I’m sorry for asking. It was out of line.” She’s clearly mortified at bringing up such an uncomfortable subject, and horrified by the realisation of what Jim must have gone through.

Jam waves away her discomfort, and winces as the movement aggravates his injury.

“I chose to answer, Lieutenant. Don’t worry about it.”

Uhura’s frown smoothes away a little.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

“Uhura?” Jim calls out, and she turns back for a second.

“Captain?”

“Thanks,” Jim says sincerely, and Uhura’s expression relaxes into a slight smile, acknowledging and rueful.

“You’re welcome, sir,” she says.

 

  
 

**Author's Note:**

> While I was writing this fic, there were some suggestions that I could use elements of the plot from Star Trek Into Darkness, and that this would be particularly interesting considering the history of the Eugenics War in this universe. I agree that this sounds interesting, however I haven't actually seen STID yet. So, there's a possibility I might write a sequel to this fic, using some of the ideas that were discussed, but it depends on whether I like STID once I see it.
> 
> I've put this up as the first of a series, just in case, so that people can subscribe to the series in case I do write more.


End file.
